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Anders was poking desultorily at his bowl of stew when Aveline joined them at the Hanged Man later that afternoon. He didn't really feel hungry, but when Fenris had dragged him there earlier, Varric had taken one look at him and then slid his lunch over in front of the apostate and ordered him to eat, and he hated to waste Varric's generosity. The pointed look Fenris gave him over the rim of his wine glass made him sigh, but he dutifully ladled up a spoonful of stew and began to eat without much enthusiasm.

“Varric, Fenris – Anders,” Aveline greeted them as she stripped her gauntlets off. “I was hoping to find Hawke here; he and Bethany weren't at his uncle's house.”

“I'm sure he'll show up soon, Red; we've our postponed game of Wicked Grace to look forward to later after all, and he never misses that.” Varric sat back in his chair and gestured to her to take a seat. “Join us, if you're not on duty?”

Aveline slapped the palm of her hand absently with her glove. “Well... technically my shift finished half an hour ago....” she said slowly.

“Excellent! What'll you have – wine or beer?” said Varric as he rose to his feet, ever the genial host.

Aveline pondered. There was still paperwork waiting for her back at the office, but that would mean a long walk back to Hightown to the office then traipsing all the way back again for the game afterwards. She took a seat opposite Anders. “Beer, please,” she decided.

Varric bowed towards her and headed off to order more drinks as Aveline glanced across the table at Anders, who was still slowly making his way through the bowl of stew, his own glass of wine still untouched.

“Anders, you're looking....” Her voice trailed off as he paused and glanced at her, the eyebrow over his good eye quirking upwards as though daring her to say he looked well. His face was gaunt, dark shadows beneath his eyes.

“... better than last time I saw you,” she finished a little lamely. He shrugged, then glanced sidelong at Fenris before returning his attention to the stew.

Aveline followed his glance to Fenris and frowned slightly. “Has something happened?” she asked as Varric returned and slid a tankard of beer in front of her; she absently nodded thanks.

“Seems Blondie is still a mage after all – in a manner of speaking,” said Varric.

“In a manner of speaking?” she echoed, glancing again at Anders.

The mage kept his gaze on the bowl of stew. “It appears there's something blocking my magic,” he said slowly.

“Is there a way to unblock it?” asked Aveline. Anders lifted his head and turned to stare pointedly at Fenris. Aveline glanced at the elf with a small frown.

“Fenris?” she guessed. “What does Fenris have to do with this?”

Fenris cleared his throat and looked discomfited. “It appears that if I light my brands whilst in contact with Anders, he can use his magic.”

“Beautiful, isn't it, Red? Blondie's a mage – but only when he holds Broody's hand!”

“Varric, if you turn this into one of your stories, I swear I will -” began Fenris heatedly as his face darkened; Varric leaned back and lifted his hands peaceably.

“Wouldn't dream of it, Broody! I wouldn't tell Isabela just yet though if I were you.”

Fenris grunted and tapped a gauntleted finger restlessly upon the wooden surface of the table as he glanced back at Anders.

“So lyrium unlocks Anders' magic?” guessed Aveline before taking a pull on her beer. She set the tankard down again. “Have you tried drinking lyrium?”

Anders straightened up and slapped a hand down triumphantly as he turned and stared at Fenris with an expression of vindication. Varric groaned and hid his face with one hand.

“No. Absolutely not,” replied Fenris without looking at Anders, his attention instead upon his wine. Anders threw his hand up with a noise of frustration and stared at the ceiling.

“They've been arguing this for the past hour, Red,” explained Varric as he reached for his own tankard. “Blondie wants to try it. Broody says no.”

“Wait – since when did Anders ever do what Fenris said?” blinked Aveline.

Anders suddenly developed an interest in his bowl of stew again as Fenris studiously ignored everyone in favour of the bottom of his wine glass, the tips of his ears blushing red.

“Thank you so much, Aveline; I do so enjoy people laughing at my love-life,” muttered Anders as he poked his stew. “It's rare enough that I even have one, after all.”

“It is not -” began Fenris, then broke off when Anders merely looked at him from behind his hair. “Very well, it is a – a – yes, we are, but -”

Aveline laughed as the normally-taciturn elf uncharacteristically began stammering as he blushed further.

“It is no laughing matter!” shouted Fenris as he leapt to his feet, spilling his glass of wine.

“What's no laughing matter?” asked Hawke as he paused in the doorway. “What's all this shouting? I swear half the bar downstairs can hear you, Fenris.”

Fenris glowered at him then abruptly whirled to leave. Without looking up, Anders reached out and laid a hand on Fenris' wrist lightly.

“Fen. Please,” he said quietly.

The white-haired elf stared down at the pale hand resting upon his wrist. He said nothing, but covered Anders' hand with his own then turned and sat down again, slipping one arm around Anders' waist.

Hawke stared at them both for a minute as Bethany peered over his shoulder then punched her brother lightly in the arm. “Not a word, Garrett,” she warned him.

“I didn't -” he began to protest as she squeezed past him; she shot him a warning glare and he sighed. “Fine.”

Bethany slipped into the seat on the other side of Anders and gave his shoulder a pat. His lips quirked in a small smile as Fenris' hand around his waist gave a slight squeeze; he sighed, and leaned in against Fenris' side. He pushed the bowl of stew away with an apologetic glance at Varric before reaching for the glass of wine.

Hawke shrugged and dropped into the seat next to Aveline. “I understand you've been looking for me Aveline?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, it's about those lyrium smugglers,” replied Aveline. “We've been stepping up patrols in Darktown but without much success. I need your help again, Hawke.”

“Business as usual then?” shrugged Hawke.

“Afraid so. I need to come with you on this one; I've lost four good men to those butchers in the past three days,” she replied.

“Ah. Now it's personal?” guessed Hawke.

“Something like that,” she agreed. “Will you help me?”

Hawke glanced across the table. “Varric, Fenris, Anders – you in again?”

“Sure thing, Hawke,” agreed Varric with a nod. Fenris grunted assent; Anders looked first startled then pleased to be included.

Talk turned to other things; as the sun went down, the cards came out, and they played cards until late in the night, all talk of lyrium forgotten for the moment.

***

Their patrol ran into trouble right from the outset. The smugglers seemed to have been expecting them; they ran right into an ambush almost immediately. Their only warning was the snap of a bowstring then Aveline cried out as a crossbow bolt buried itself in her shoulder, punching through her guard armour.

Varric returned fire as Fenris lit up and leapt into battle, a vivid streak of silver-white light wielding a deadly blade as Anders hurled one of his ice blast capsules at the nearest smugglers before turning to bring his staff up, parrying a sword blow that would have taken his head off. Hawke buried a dagger in the smuggler's back and the man dropped; Anders nodded thanks briefly as he turned to deal with Aveline's wound whilst Bethany threw up a shield around them both, the two rogues and the elven warrior taking care of the remaining smugglers swiftly. Aveline had dropped to her knees, clutching the bolt with one hand.

“What? Fenris, what the hell's gotten into you – if drinking lyrium means he can heal Aveline...!”

“I say he shall not! I won't let him risk poisoning himself on a mere chance!” snarled the elf, placing himself between Hawke and the others. As Hawke pushed forward, Fenris swung his fist. There was an audible crack as Hawke's head snapped back, and then Fenris and Hawke glared at each other. Blood was slowly seeping through the cut in Hawke's lip; the rogue wiped it away slowly, his eyes never leaving those of the elf.

“And I say he can damned well make his own choices, and if Anders thinks lyrium will help then who the hell are you to stop him?” he growled. “Damn it, Fenris, Aveline's hurt! We need Anders' magic!”

“Now, now, let's all calm down here,” said Varric in a placating tone. The dwarf wasn't quite foolish enough to step between the two men, but he glanced between them as he lifted his hands and gestured for them to back down. “Broody, we've only got Blondie's best interests here, same as you. We already know he's still a mage, so what's the worst that could happen? Lyrium's not going to poison him. At worst it'll do nothing. Where's the harm in trying?”

Fenris switched his glare to the dwarf, but Varric didn't back down under the implicit threat in the elf's eyes. After a moment, Fenris threw up his hands and turned away with a curse.

Hawke turned back to Anders, who knelt stiffly beside Aveline as if frozen, his eyes on Fenris; he still held the unopened vial of lyrium in one hand. Fenris pushed past the rogue to drop to his knees before Anders.

“Please, mi amatus,” he said quietly. “Do not do this. Use my powers instead. Draw upon my lyrium. Don't risk yourself.” He held a hand out towards Anders.

“Must you do this?” pleaded Fenris. Anders nodded. Fenris stared into Anders' good eye; after a long, tense silence, he slowly nodded. “Do what you must,” he said gently.

Anders breathed a silent sigh of relief. “It may do nothing at all,” he shrugged as he uncorked the vial. After a moment's hesitation, he knocked back the contents and swallowed.

At first, he felt nothing. The lyrium was a tingling sweetness upon his tongue and lips; a coolness in his throat, sinking down into his stomach.

Then it was as though light blossomed inside; first a tingle, then a rush of energy that raced through his blood - a warmth that rose up his throat and spread down his arms to his hands. A glow spreading inside that filled him. It was as though he had seen the world only in shades of grey before but now saw colour; everything vivid, bright, filled with life. He felt alive again, the power flowing through him; he heard the whisper of spirits around them and he couldn't restrain the relieved grin that spread across his face.

As he glanced at Bethany, he could tell from her delighted answering grin that he didn't have to say a word; she knew.

“Hawke, I need someone to draw the bolt out whilst I heal,” said Anders as cool blue healing energies pooled in his upturned palms, the power answering his will readily. Hawke nodded and took a firm hold of the shaft of the bolt as Varric braced Aveline; Anders began channelling healing magic into Aveline as the bolt was withdrawn from her shoulder, the healer skilfully blocking off the pain as he worked to draw torn muscle and flesh back together along the path of the bolt, rebuilding the joint and regrowing skin until not even a scar was left to mar the lightly-freckled skin.

Aveline gave a sigh of relief as she rotated her shoulder to check her range of movement. “Good as ever; thank you, Anders,” she smiled. Hawke helped her to her feet as Fenris helped Anders up.

“It worked!” exclaimed Bethany. “Oh Anders, I'm so happy for you!” She giggled and hugged him on impulse; laughing, Anders lifted her up and swung her around in a circle as she let out a surprised squeal. He set her down then grinned at Fenris as he released her.

“Oh, don't look so jealous, love,” he grinned; and then without thinking, he reached out to Fenris, his fingers sliding into the soft white hair as he bent to claim the elf's lips in a kiss. Fenris began to return it but they both froze then sprang apart when the others began to whoop and cheer.

“You don't understand!” cried Anders, his hands clenching into fists as he stared at the elf.

“On the contrary; I understand too well, which is why I cannot allow you to do this,” Fenris replied quietly.

“Please!” begged Anders, then again, in a broken whisper, “Please.”

Fenris' eyes softened. “I am sorry,” he said, and turned away.

Anders watched dully as the elf returned the vial of lyrium to the box and closed it firmly. The elf leaned over the crate of alchemical supplies and exhaled in a long, low sigh.

The idea had come to Anders a little while after he had finally awoken after sleeping like the dead for the rest of the day and the whole of the night. He had not stirred once, even as Fenris had gently sponged the drying blood from his body and washed his limp, unresisting hands. He had finally awoken with the dawn the following morning, stirring into wakefulness when Fenris rose from the bed to stir up the ashes of the fire and set water to heat for tea.

He had sat watching Fenris as the elf set out two cups and brewed tea for them both. Fenris glanced up as he poured the tea, aware of Anders' eyes upon him; he smiled, and Anders hesitantly smiled back. When Fenris handed him the cup, he had to restrain the urge to clutch at Fenris' fingers and beg him to unlock his magic again. If his hands shook when he took the cup, Fenris at least had the grace to make no mention of it as he turned away to reach for his own cup.

He could not bring himself to beg, even though he wanted to. That tantalising few minutes when the magic had flown through his blood like quicksilver, tasting the mana with every breath, feeling more alive than he had in weeks, had flown past all too quickly, and he longed to feel it again even if only for a minute. But he couldn't use Fenris like that.

The lyrium. The lyrium was the key; he was certain of it. He recalled again the shimmering halos he had seen about Hawke, Bethany and Fenris as he lost consciousness after inadvertently swallowing the tainted lyrium; recalled the whispers of spirits even as everything had gone dark. He had heard them again as he had healed Fenris. Maybe untainted lyrium would open up his senses once more and unblock whatever it was inside that kept his magic walled away?

They had returned to the clinic as soon as they had finished a light breakfast, Anders' fingers tapping restlessly upon the haft of his staff as he waited impatiently for Fenris to finish donning his armour, though he allowed the elf to distract him with a kiss even as his gauntleted hand closed gently around his fingers to still them. He had smiled self-consciously when Fenris drew away, but couldn't explain to Fenris his wild impatience.

When Anders had made straight for the crate of alchemical supplies and pulled out a vial of lyrium, uncorking it hastily, Fenris had plucked it from his fingers with a scowl.

“Fool mage, do you want to poison yourself again?” he glared.

Anders had argued. Cajoled. Pleaded; even begged; but Fenris was adamant. He would not risk Anders poisoning himself further with lyrium, tainted or otherwise.

Anders' shoulders slumped as he turned away, unable to conceal his dismay and disappointment. He stiffened slightly as Fenris laid a hand lightly against the small of his back, then turned back toward the elf, allowing himself to be held as he dropped his head to rest against Fenris' shoulder.

“I just want to feel again,” he said quietly.

Fenris said nothing, merely held him silently. They stood like that for a few minutes, Anders lifting his head with a quizzical look when Fenris pulled away slightly. Fenris stared up into his eyes as he took Anders' hands in his own, and then with a faint, wordless sigh the elf lit up his brands.

Anders pulled his hands free, though everything in him screamed not to pull away. He wrenched himself from Fenris' grasp with a groan of pain as he turned away, hating himself as he fought down the urge to reach for the elf again as the magic stuttered out like a guttering flame within him, leaving him cold and bereft once more.

“I can't, I can't do this,” he moaned as he stumbled away then fell rather than sat on the edge of a nearby cot, burying his face in his hands.

“I thought -” began Fenris, bewilderment in his voice; Anders could practically feel the hurt, kicked-puppy look he knew the elf must be giving him.

“Don't get me wrong, I want it – I want it more than you can imagine,” replied Anders, his voice a little muffled by his hands. “But I can't use you like that. I'm not Danarius.”

“I did not say you were,” said Fenris slowly, baffled. “Anders -”

“You don't understand,” sighed Anders. He lifted his head to stare at Fenris with his one good eye. “If you do this... it makes it harder to let go. I'll only want you to do it more and more. And yet I know your brands hurt you. Every time you use them, it burns. And I... I can't do that to you. I can't ask you to do that for me.”

“How did you...!” exclaimed Fenris, startled. He had never breathed a word to a single soul of how it pained him to use the markings incised into his skin. He had told Hawke of how they had been cut into his very flesh, and they had all learned that he could not abide to be touched save only rarely, but even to Hawke he had never confided what it cost him in pain to use the brands.

“Healer, remember?” said Anders with a wry lop-sided smile. “Before I lost my magic, I could tell – whenever we were fighting alongside Hawke, I would know through my magic the very moment any of you were hurt – but you were always this ball of elf-shaped pain every moment you were lit up. I know what it costs you.” He lifted a hand to forestall Fenris before the elf could speak. “I know, you're used to it by now – but that doesn't mean I can bring myself to allow you to endure more pain on my behalf.” He sighed quietly. “I just have to find another way to do it. I had hoped....” He gestured at the crate, then lowered his head. “It doesn't matter,” he muttered.

Fenris lowered himself to sit next to Anders on the cot; after a moment, he laid a hand gently over Anders' as it rested on his knee. Wordlessly, Anders turned his hand palm uppermost and they laced their fingers together.

“What did you hope the lyrium would do?” rumbled the elf quietly.

“Unlock what's been locked away inside me,” said Anders softly. “Give me back what was taken. Make me whole again.”

“Anders,” said Fenris gently as he shook their interlaced hands lightly. “You are whole. We know your magic is not wholly gone. Give it time. Perhaps it is like – like feeling returning again, when nerves heal.”

Anders lifted his head and looked at him quizzically.

“You remember – not long after we first met, that fight with slavers on the coast? The bloodmage who caught me with that fireball. You healed me, but it took some time for the feeling to return to my leg – you told me that even with magical healing, the nerves still had to regrow after being burned.”

“I remember,” nodded Anders, then smiled ruefully. “You cussed a blue streak that I couldn't just heal it all instantly and you tried to walk on it before it had finished healing.”

Fenris nodded and returned Anders' smile with a wry one of his own. “It seems I have to learn some lessons the hard way also.” Anders snorted. “But perhaps this is like that, Anders – perhaps you have to let your magic grow back in its own time?” Fenris went on. “Perhaps you must simply have patience. I would not see you poison yourself with lyrium. We both know that lyrium is toxic enough itself, and I... would not wish to lose you.”

“I wouldn't like to lose me either,” quipped Anders, but the flippant grin that flickered across his face was gone as swiftly as it had appeared.

Anders closed his eye. “It's so hard,” he breathed. “To know it's still there and not be able to reach it. To know that I could -” His eye flew open and the colour drained from his face as he stared across the clinic at the cot where Mae had given birth and breathed her last. His eye widened. “I could have -”

Fenris grasped Anders by the shoulders and shook him none too gently. “Anders. Anders! Look at me!” Anders stared at him, wild-eyed, as he clutched at Fenris' hands. “Anders, you didn't know. We didn't know!”

“We could have saved her!” Anders breathed.

Fenris shook his head. “No. We had no idea. We didn't know. Do not blame yourself for this – we didn't, couldn't have known.”

Tiny little books - the three at the back ate 30mm x 40mm, the ones at the front are 24mm x 30mm - all perfect for Monster High/Barbie/Blythe and similarly-sized dolls. All handbound by traditional methods.Available to buy on Etsy

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Professional artist working in both traditional and digital media, craftsman, doll customiser/costumer, jeweller.

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SIZE: I generally work on a minimum canvas size of 4Kx4K at 300dpi - however this is open to negotiation depending on whether you want a high print-quality image or something for web work.

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Selling hand-bound notebooks, journals and miniature books. I'm also happy to take on custom commissions. Want a special journal for your Book of Shadows? How about a special one-of-a-kind recipe book? Perhaps you know someone who's looking for something a little different for the guest book for their wedding? Or maybe you just like pretty notebooks! (Or maybe your dolls do? I have notebooks and journals for them too!)

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My name is Lindy Fu. Our company ZQGame is looking for good artwork from talented artists. We have seen this work from your artwork site: [link]. We wonder if we can use it for our game promotional marketing. If so, is the IP yours or somebody else? What the price range would be? Please let us know. We can work on the details later. You can reach me at lindy.fu@zqgame.com.

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